I Kissed A Girl
by Tarafina
Summary: Santana's hand is on her waist, the pads of her fingers pressing hard at her hip, intense, like she thinks Rachel might pull away or lean back, or voice the questions they're both thinking. "What are you doing…? What are we doing?" :Pezberry:


**Title**: I Kissed a Girl (And I Liked It)  
><strong>Category<strong>: Glee  
><strong>Genre<strong>: Romance  
><strong>Ship<strong>: Santana/Rachel  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG-13/Teen  
><strong>Word Count<strong>: 933  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Santana's hand is on her waist, the pads of her fingers pressing hard at her hip, intense, like she thinks Rachel might pull away or lean back, or voice the questions they're both thinking. "What are you doing…? What are _we _doing?"

**_I Kissed a Girl (And I Liked It)_**  
>-11-

There is a moment as Santana leans in where Rachel can't help but think of Jesse, Finn, and Noah; of a time when the only thing secondary to Broadway was the love of a good, or in Puck's case _bad_, boy. But then Santana's lips come into startling clarity, looking so soft and pink and gently curved, and she thinks, "Perhaps boys are overrated."

They should be practicing; they have a mandatory duet, which is really the only reason Santana is even in her house, and perfection is exactly what Rachel aims for and gets. She expects no less from her singing partner. Even if she's been complaining for the last hour that she has better things to do, while vaguely critiquing her bedroom and clothes and personality. Rachel lets it slide; partly out of pity. Santana and Brittany broke up and even if they said it was amicable, Rachel wonders if it's true. It's been weeks and Brittany has moved on; or moved back, since she's with Artie again. While Santana has been… suspiciously single. Perhaps the reason why is more obvious now.

Santana's hand is on her waist, the pads of her fingers pressing hard at her hip, intense, like she thinks Rachel might pull away or lean back, or voice the questions they're both thinking. "What are you doing…? What are _we _doing?"

There's a puff of warm air on her lips as Santana exhales and her eyes dart up to meet the Latina's. Her dark lashes shroud her brown gaze for a fraction of a second before she lets herself be seen, wholly and completely. Insecurity, fear, hope. Their eyes meet and hold; so close and so far. Rachel's breath leaves her in a gasped whoosh and in answer, Santana's mouth ticks up at one corner. It's the first time Rachel doesn't read malicious intent in her grin, but rather some oddly genuine affection.

Their noses bump and she half expects a snarled insult about her overlarge _schnoz_; instead, Santana nuzzles her nose lightly before tipping her head a little more. Their lips slant together, gently, lightly, and Rachel is surprised. She shouldn't be, since she's witnessed Santana's capacity for tenderness toward those she likes. Still, some part of her expected it to be more like the kisses she's shared in her past.

Jesse's kisses were firm and consuming, always moving, taking, drinking from her mouth like a man in search of salvation and certain it could be found in her.

Finn's were eager, sometimes sloppy, always sweet, but naïve in their quest to not do the wrong thing.

And Noah's were passionate, skilled, confident, sometimes even lazy in their comfortable familiarity.

Santana's a whole new experience. Her teeth dig in, indenting Rachel's lip very lightly and giving a gently tug before she soothes it with small strokes of her tongue. She draws Rachel into it like she knows she has a novice on her hands and doesn't want to scare her off too early. While experienced with boys, she can't object to Santana's view of her; maybe she is new to this in some respects. She doesn't know what to do with her hands; to touch or not to touch. A little part of her fears that if she reaches out, it might ruin the moment; jarring her companion back to reality.

Apparently unconcerned with it, Santana's hand slides around to Rachel's back and presses firmly, bringing her closer until their fronts are touching, molded tight together. Rachel can feel her own chest heaving and her breasts, which seem fuller, heavier somehow, and surprising sensitive, brush against Santana's with each hitched breath she takes.

Gently skimming hair back from Rachel's cheek, Santana tucks it behind her ear and trails her fingers down her neck, leaving goosebumps in her wake. She curls her fingers at the nape, threaded in long, brown hair, stroking faintly at her neck, in tune with her warm tongue, teasing and reaching, darting into Rachel's mouth for a quick taste, leaving her wanting.

She sets a slow, steady pace, and Rachel can appreciate it, truly, she can, but patience is not a virtue she possesses. Finally, she gathers her confidence and reaches for Santana. She curves her hand around her elbow, thumb flicking back and forth along the bend, while the other frame's her face, palming the curve of her high, flushed cheek. This time, it's Rachel's teeth that nip at Santana's lip, and she spares to time letting her adjust. She presses tighter to her, taking long, sipping kisses from her mouth, and finds herself proud as the far more experienced Latina is left panting, breasts heaving, fingers tightening at Rachel's neck and pressing insistently at the small of her back.

They tumble back onto the bed, never quite letting each other go. Their legs tangle and with her Cheerio skirt combined with Rachel's own plaid mini, it's soft, bare, tanned skin, sliding together. For a moment, Rachel thinks of how out of place Santana looks in her yellow bedroom, her dark hair spread out on her pale pink blanket. But then Santana reaches for her, brushing lightly at her bangs to get them out of her eyes. And she smiles, that oddly sweet smile that says she likes her a lot more than Rachel has ever expected. And when she leans in again and her fingers dance down her neck to tickle at where her pulse skitters, Rachel grins back.

As their foreheads press tight together and Santana murmurs approvingly, "Not bad, Berry," there is no second guessing it. Boys are completely overrated.

[**End.**]


End file.
